


don't go away, I can't stand the thought

by caseyvalhalla



Series: oh I fell into, oh I fell down [2]
Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Making Out, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyvalhalla/pseuds/caseyvalhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically how we all wanted the wine-drinking scene in Beyond to go.</p>
<p>For No. 6 Day/Shion's Birthday</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't go away, I can't stand the thought

**Author's Note:**

> General warn for Nezumi being kind of an asshole and deeply in denial. Same timeline as _don’t come any closer, that’s good enough._

Nezumi learned long before then about the pleasant effects of alcohol, the warm fog it engulfed him in, unwinding the tension in his muscles, warming him to the tips of his fingers and toes.  Shion, apparently, hadn’t discovered this yet, or he might have warned him in advance that he lost all sense of personal boundaries while drunk.

Not that they were necessarily drunk, having only split a single bottle of wine between them, but Shion was inexperienced, apparently a bit of a lightweight, and overly determined to break into Nezumi’s personal space.

He managed to thwart Shion’s efforts until he made the mistake of standing, which was apparently a little more than he was prepared for and significantly more than Shion was—that, or it was a completely calculated move on Shion’s part to topple both of them onto the bed, effectively pinning Nezumi beneath him.

Shion’s nose brushed against his.  “I win.”

Nezumi sighed, frowning deeply, one hand in his hair.  “You’re not funny.  Stop fucking around.”

As he should have expected, Shion mimicked his expression, comically ridiculous on his own face.  “You’re not funny.  Stop fucking around.”

“Okay ENOUGH.  Get off of me.”

“No.”

Nezumi dragged his hand down over his face, very nearly whining in exasperation.  “I’m never giving you alcohol again.  Ever.”

Shion grinned brightly.  Nezumi couldn’t see it; he just _knew_.

“So glad to know that annoying the fuck out of me amuses you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You will, huh?”

Shion hummed and lifted Nezumi’s hand away from his eyes and he was still way too goddamn close, damp heat of his breath puffing over Nezumi’s cheek.  “I will.”  Shion kissed him, softly—awkwardly, really, but it wasn’t so bad.  Nezumi let out a breath through his nose, mostly in exhaustion and defeat.

Then Shion tilted his head to the side and pressed in hard enough to draw out a grunt.  The pressure on his mouth nearly cut his lips on his own teeth.  He grabbed Shion by the shoulders, pushing him away, safely to arm’s length.  “God, just stop.  You’re terrible at this.”

The color in Shion’s cheeks condensed into two angry red spots, eyes flashing the way they only did when he’d had enough of Nezumi’s attitude.  “The explain how to do it right!  Don’t just tear me down!”

Nezumi let a breath out through clenched teeth, ending in an indignant huff.  “You’re pushing too hard.  Start out soft.  Get some overlap going, then apply some pressure— _with your lips_ , not your whole face.  If that goes well you can get in a little deeper, add in some teeth and tongue.  Got it?”

“I’ve got it.”  Shion resettled on his elbows, face directly above Nezumi’s.  His cheeks were tinted pink and his breath smelled like wine, his eyebrows drawn together fiercely.  Nezumi made a show of looking to the side and scoffing under his breath but Shion’s hand stopped him, palm warm against his cheek.  “You’re gonna tell me that and not let me practice?”

“I never said this was a hands-on lesson!  If you want to kiss someone, go find a girl and do it properly!”

Shion’s expression shifted, slowly, from vengeful determination to something Nezumi couldn’t immediately identify.  There was something aloof about it, too neutral, too knowing, the way his eyes relaxed but his mouth pulled into a thin line.  “Why does it have to be with a girl to be proper?”

“It doesn’t—fuck, talking to you when you’re drunk is even worse than when you’re sober.  Obviously if you’re going to kiss someone it might as well be someone you _want_ to kiss.”

“That’s true,” Shion murmured, corners of his mouth tilting up in quiet amusement that was almost as infuriating as his airheaded questions.

“You’re laughing at me and it’s pissing me off.”

“I’m sorry.  I won’t laugh.”  Shion tilted his head back slightly, drawing in a breath and schooling his face back into a neutral expression.  “Is that better?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let me kiss you?”

“I just—fine.  _Fine_.  Do as you like.”  Nezumi shut his eyes, letting his hands fall to rest on the mattress, limp on either side of his head, ignoring Shion’s chuckle and how warm and close it was, puffing against his chin.

Shion had taken his words to heart.  The first touch of his lips was almost painfully gentle, a soft brush not unlike his infamous “goodnight kiss,” only different in that it didn’t pass after a few bare seconds.  Nezumi stubbornly set out to not move to assist in any way, remaining still and letting Shion do whatever he thought he wanted, although it felt rather nice.  Of course, it was a kiss.  Of course it would feel nice; it didn’t really matter who was doing it, after all, right?

The closer Shion got, though, the harder it was not to tilt his head a bit to the side, open his mouth a little more, and when he could feel Shion’s lower lip pressing between his, taste his breath a little, feel his hand sliding along his jaw, Nezumi caught himself sighing through his nose, warmth running down his arms and washing through his chest, skin prickling.  The wine had left his face warm, his fingers numb, and it was easy to divert blame.  To tell himself there was no way he’d ever, ever reach up to bury his fingers in Shion’s hair, no way his breath would catch when Shion tugged on his chin to tilt his head back and deepen the kiss further.  No way he’d make that soft, involuntary sound when Shion’s teeth closed around his lower lip and tugged oh so gently—if he hadn’t drunk that wine.

Shion was warm and heavy over him, fingers working the knot in his hair undone and the brush of tongue along the seam of his lips made him fist one hand in Shion’s sweater.  He was so close and it was suffocating, too warm, short enough on breath that he was starting to feel dizzy and that must have been why he shifted and pressed up into Shion’s weight, bodies molding together, a low hum vibrating through his throat for the taste of Shion’s tongue and the damp press of muscle and breath in his mouth and the way he smelled like harsh soap, old books, dust and sunlight and _skin_.

Nezumi managed not to think too hard about it, managed to justify everything, explain it away, deflect and divert and if nothing else worked there was always the alcohol buzz to fall back on—up until Shion’s appreciative hums melted into a soft chuckle, tingling against his lips.  He scowled, then, twisting awkwardly and jerking his mouth away, because Shion’s hip was pressed just right, _there_ , one knee between his legs, and the smile on his lips was far too amused.

“Don’t let your ego inflate too much,” Nezumi growled, looking at the wall and definitely not at Shion and his hooded eyes and flushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips.

“I’m not,” Shion murmured, lips brushing idly over his cheek.  “Just pleased.”

“Well don’t be pleased!”  He definitely wasn’t tilting his head, his breath was definitely not hitching when Shion pressed a harder kiss to the underside of his jaw.  “Obviously if you kiss a guy like that he’s going to get aroused.  It’s no great accomplishment.”

It could be anyone.  It could be _anyone_.  It didn’t matter that it was Shion.

Fingers brushed back the hair from his forehead, slow and gentle; Shion’s nose bumped against his and Nezumi looked up before he could stop himself.  Shion’s eyes were dark like wine, like blood, soft around the edges. Nezumi sensed for an instant that they could see straight through him and _that_ —over and beyond anything Shion’s mouth and hands had done—was what made his heart pound furiously in his chest.

The next kiss was messy and feverish, a long and deliberate wash of heat that broke over his thought processes, left them muddy and indistinguishable.  He dug his hands under Shion’s sweater, fingertips finding the red lines of his scar, nails pressing new ones when Shion’s hand met the small of his back and pulled their hips together.

Teeth and breath against his mouth, hair and fabric between his fingers, pulling at both and not thinking about how he arched up against Shion, how good it was to tilt his head back and open his mouth and feel.  How Shion’s voice sounded in his ears, breathless around the edges of his name.  How Shion melted through his defenses, dragged a soft moan from his throat, slid fingers under his clothes, pulled him apart like he did such things all the time.  Like he knew all of Nezumi’s secrets, that the palm of his hand would be his undoing, would leave him trembling and panting, curled against him and clinging, cursing into his neck, thoughts going white.

Shion said his name like a prayer, like he was precious.  Nezumi laid an arm over his own eyes and pretended his heart wasn’t throbbing in his ears.

“Was that okay?” Shion asked like it mattered, like they were lovers who took consideration of things like consent, and he didn’t know why it made him angry.  “Should I not have?”

Nezumi muttered from behind his arm, “It’s fine,” and could practically hear the uncertainty on Shion’s face and the slow smile that followed after it.

“You begged.”

“I did not!”

“You did,” Shion assured him with a chuckle, shifting around until his head was pillowed on Nezumi’s shoulder, fine translucent hair tickling his chin.

Nezumi moved his hand to his forehead, staring up at the ceiling and wondering.  It happened so fast—what had he done, what had he said?  He might vaguely recall somewhere in the middle of all that breath and heat, pressing up into Shion’s hands and lips and the world _please_ stuttering on his tongue.  How did it look, from Shion’s perspective?

He stared, feeling Shion grow heavy against his chest, breath deepening in sleep.  He brushed his fingers through Shion’s hair, gently, reverently, and wondered.

Eventually, though, the room was dark aside from the dim glow of the stove, still burning down.  Shion’s breath was heavy behind him, and Nezumi could feel his skin burning, like everywhere Shion touched had been branded into him.  Like the scars on his back, like the red snake curling around Shion’s body.  He was crawling into Nezumi, slowly but surely reaching into the deepest parts of him, caressing everything broken and vulnerable.  He sat at the edge of the bed and dug his fingers into his arms, cursed at the floor.  Cursed at himself for getting carried away, for thinking even for a bare second _god,_ _yes, I want this, I want_ him.

It wasn’t so easy to blame that on the wine.


End file.
